The Prince of Serpents and the Sorcerer's Stone
by werewolf cub selene
Summary: Devon and Harry Potter are twins who were separated on the night they were attacked by Voldemort. Devon, the proclaimed "Boy-Who-Lived" has been raised by the Dursleys. Harry, the true "Boy-Who-Lived" has grown up in an orphanage. The wizarding world is in for a shock when these two brothers meet and sparks fly between them.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or his world. Everything you recognize comes from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. Anything else comes from a scenario created in my own mind.**

_**The Chosen One and the Boy-Who-Lived**_

* * *

_Year One – The Prince of Serpents and the Sorcerer's Stone_

Chapter One – The Last Potters

It was the afternoon of November 1, 1981. While Uncle Vernon was in such a hurry to get home that he ran into poor Professor Flitwick, Professor Snape was taking a one-year-old Harry James Potter to an orphanage in London. The Professor was not pleased to be the one doing this, but Albus Dumbledore had insisted.

Harry and his older twin brother, Devon Sirius, were to be separated for their protection. Devon was being sent to Lily's sister's family, where blood wards would keep the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters away. Harry, however, would be placed in an orphanage to keep him from being tracked down by any Death Eaters who might try to raise the boy against his brother.

Professor Snape knocked on the door to the orphanage. Little Harry woke up and looked to the Professor with green eyes. He was slightly startled to see that his eyes were the color of death, the same color as the Killing Curse his brother had saved him from. The boy didn't even cry; instead, he seemed to watch him with a calculating interest, too intelligent and observant for a boy his age.

He was relieved when a young woman answered the door. "May I come in?" he asked and let himself be ushered in.

The young woman ran off, leaving him in the lobby, and quickly returned with an older woman. She studied the pair then said, "Follow me to my office."

It was a quick walk to the office. Professor Snape was gestured to take a seat across from the woman as she sat at her desk.

Once seated, the woman asked, "What is your reason for being here? I assume it is more than just dropping the child off. If that were all, you would have just left him on the doorstep and walked away."

Professor Snape pondered what to say then began speaking slowly. "I am Severus Snape. I've brought this boy, Harry Potter, to be placed here because his parents were murdered last night. He needs a loving home to be found if possible."

The woman nodded. "Of course. I'll try to find a suitable home for him, but I can't guarantee it. It should be easier now that he is so young, and they usually adopt the younger ones, but it is ultimately up to the adopting couple."

Professor Snape stood up and handed Harry to the woman. "I understand," he said. "The adopting couple will need to know that his name cannot be changed, and there are measures set to prevent that. They may add on to it though, if they wish for him to have their last name. Also, on his eleventh birthday, I will be visiting him personally with an acceptance letter to the school his parents attended, and where I am currently teaching."

The Matron nodded. "I will inform any couples of those requirements and look after little Harry. If he is not adopted by his eleventh birthday, I will see you then."

Professor Snape nodded and left.

The matron looked at the boy. He had an angelic face with beautiful green eyes and black hair. Little did she know that she held the Boy-Who-Lived, or that he would become her worst nightmare. She simply walked to a room at the end of a long hallway and placed the boy in a crib for the night. It was a shame that Harry was to suffer the same fate as the man who attempted to murder him, and not one person gave thought to the lightning shaped scar on his forehead, tinged in dark magic.

And there was nothing about the starry sky that night to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening.

Mr. Dursley was sitting down, just in time to catch the last report on the evening news.

"And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nations owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly decided to change their sleeping pattern." The newscaster smiled. "Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showers of owls tonight, Jim?"

"Well Ted," said the weatherman, shaking his head, "I don't know about that, but it's not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire, and Dundee have been phoning in today to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early – it's not until next week folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight."

Mr. Dursley sat frozen in fear. Shooting stars all over Britain? Owls flying by daylight? Mysterious people in cloaks all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper about the Potters…

Mrs. Dursley walked into the living room with two cups of tea. Nervously, he cleared his throat and asked, "er – Petunia, dear – you haven't heard from your sister later, have you?"

Mrs. Dursley looked shocked and angry. "No," she snapped. "Why?" Normally, they pretended that she didn't have a sister.

"Funny stuff on the news," Mr. Dursley mumbled. "Owls… Shooting stars… and there were a lot of funny-looking people in town today…"

"_So?_"

"Well, I just thought… maybe… it was something to do with… you know… _her _crowd."

Mr. Dursley decided not to tell her about hearing his in-laws names, and said casually, "Their sons – they'd be about Dudley's age now, wouldn't they?"

"I suppose so," Mrs. Dursley said stiffly.

"What're their names again, Devon and Howard?"

"The other son's name is Harry. Nasty common name if you ask me."

"Oh yes, I quite agree."

Mr. Dursley went to bed, thinking that this couldn't affect him. With that comforting thought, he fell asleep.

How very wrong he was.

Outside of Number 4, Privet Drive, a tabby cat sat on the garden wall. Its eyes were fixed on the far corner of the road. It was near midnight before the cat moved at all.

A man appeared on the corner silently, as though popping out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched and narrowed at the sight of Albus Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize that he had just arrived on a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome. While rummaging through his cloak, he felt the gaze to the cat. He looked up and chuckled. "I should have known."

From his pocket, he pulled out a Deluminator. He clicked it and the nearest street lamp went out. He clicked it twelve more times until all that could be seen was the eyes of the eyes of the cat. He placed the Deluminator back into his cloak and sat down next to the cat.

"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

He turned and, rather than looking at a cat, he smiled at a stern looking woman. She looked distinctly ruffled.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked.

"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."

"All day?" Dumbledore asked. "When you could have been out celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."

Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily. "Oh yes everyone's celebrating all right. You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head to the Dursley's living-room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls… shooting stars… Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars in Kent I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."

"You can't blame them," Dumbledore defended gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."

"I know that," Professor McGonagall said irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in muggle clothes, swapping rumors."

She glanced at Dumbledore, as if expecting a response, then continued. "A fine thing it would be if on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?"

"It certainly seems so," Dumbledore said. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a sherbet lemon?"

"A _what?_"

"A sherbet lemon. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of."

"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall, who looked miffed that she was being offered a sherbet lemon. "as I say, even if You-Know-Who _has _gone "

"My Dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: _Voldemort_." Professor McGonagall flinched, though Dumbledore took no notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name."

"I know you haven't," Professor McGonagall said with a mixture of awe and exasperation. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know oh, all right, _Voldemort_, was frightened of."

"You flatter me," Dumbledore said calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have."

"Only because you're too well _noble_ to use them."

"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."

Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore, clearly annoyed at the lack of information. "The owls are nothing next to the _rumors _that are flying around. You know what everyone is saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"

Professor McGonagall was looking at Dumbledore anxiously, as though she had waited all day to hear this.

"What they're _saying,_" she pressed, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are, are that they're _dead_."

Dumbledore lowered his head and Professor McGonagall gasped.

"Lily and James… I can't believe it… I didn't want to believe it…Oh, Albus…"

Dumbledore patted her shoulder. "I know… I know…"

Trembling, Professor McGonagall continued. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potter's twin sons, Devon and Harry. But he couldn't. He couldn't kill them. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Devon potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke and that's why he's gone."

Dumbledore nodded.

Professor McGonagall faltered. "It's, it's _true_? After all he's done… all the people he's killed…he couldn't kill a little boy? It's just astounding… of all the things to stop him… but how in the name of heaven did those two survive?"

"We can only guess. We may never know."

Professor McGonagall dabbed her eyes with a lace handkerchief, while Dumbledore looked at his watch. He put it back in his pocket and said, "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you that I'd be here, by the way?"

"Yes." Professor McGonagall narrowed her eyes. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me _why _you're here of all places?"

"I've come to bring Devon to his aunt and uncle. They're the only family he has left now."

"You don't mean you _can't _mean the people who live _here_?" Professor McGonagall cried as she jumped to her feet, pointing at number four. "Dumbledore you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Devon Potter come and live here!"

"It's the best place for him," said Dumbledore. "His aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he's older. I've written a letter."

"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall in a scandalizing tone. "Really Dumbledore, you think you can explain all of this in a letter? These people will never understand him! He'll be famous a legend I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Potter day in the future there will be books written about Devon and Harry every child in our world will know their names!"

"Exactly. It would be enough to turn anybody's head. Famous before they can walk and talk! Famous for something they won't even remember! Can't you see how much better off they'll be, growing up away from all that until they are ready to take it?"

Professor looked ready to argue, then decided against it. "Yes yes, you're right, of course. I know Harry has gone to an orphanage, but how is Devon getting here?"

"Hagrid is bringing him," said Dumbledore simply.

"You think it _wise _to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"

"I would trust Hagrid with my life."

"I 'm not saying that his heart isn't in the right place," admitted Professor McGonagall, "but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to what was that?"

The roar of an engine was heard and a motorcycle fell out of the sky and landed right in front of them. Sitting on it was a large man with wild black hair. Who could easily be mistaken by muggles as a giant. In his arms was a bundle of blue blankets.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," Hagrid said as he climbed off the motorcycle. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got him, sir."

"No problems, I trust?"

"No sir house was almost destroyed, but Severus and I got them out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. Devon fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."

Dumbledore and McGonagall peered at the blankets. Just visible inside was a baby boy, fast asleep. He had a tuft of auburn hair over his forehead, and underneath his right eye was a jagged shaped scar, much like a lightning bolt.

"Is that where ?" Professor McGonagall whispered softly.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He'll have that scar forever."

"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?"

"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well give him here, Hagrid we'd better get this over with."

Dumbledore took Devon and turned towards the Dursley's home.

"Could I could I say good-bye to him, sir?" Hagrid asked. He bent over and gave Devon what must have been a very scratchy kiss. Then, Hagrid let out a strangled cry like a wounded animal.

"Shhh!" Professor McGonagall hissed, "you'll wake the Muggles!"

"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, burying his face in a large, spotted handkerchief. "But I c-c-can't stand it Lily an' James dead an' poor little Devon and Harry off ter live with Muggles "

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," whispered professor McGonagall, patting Hagrid on the arm as Dumbledore walked to the front door and laid him on the doorstep. He pulled out a letter and placed it beside him.

"Good luck, Devon Potter."

The could not possibly know that Devon would be woken up by Mrs. Dursley's scream, or that he'd spend the next many years bullied by Dudley. All across the country, witches and wizards raised their glasses and whispered, "To Devon Potter the boy-who-lived.


End file.
